


Blood

by Phiso



Series: Dynamic [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Cannibalism, Nightmares, Werewolves, save me from LJ!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-24
Updated: 2010-01-24
Packaged: 2018-10-27 03:48:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10801068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phiso/pseuds/Phiso
Summary: "Remus wasn't sure how long he had been there before he dozed off, his body pleading for rest; one moment he was staring mindlessly at the wall of the cold cave, and the next he was running through the dark woods, his lungs burning as he tore through the foliage."





	Blood

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally for an RP, but I couldn't help but want to post this as part of this series, so I fixed it up some to fit this storyline.

**When:** November 1980

 

  
It was another one of those nights.

Remus wasn't sure how long he had been there before he dozed off, his body pleading for rest; one moment he was staring mindlessly at the wall of the cold cave, and the next he was running through the dark woods, his lungs burning as he tore through the foliage. He wasn't sure why he was running or what he was running from; all he was sure of was that he was afraid, very afraid, and that he didn’t intend on stopping. He gasped for air as he went, sure that whoever was chasing him could hear his frantic, heaving panting and the strong, frightened thumping of his heart echoing in his ears. Branches scratched at his face, his arms, his legs; he felt the sting of cuts moments before a drop of something warm would trickle down his body, and he stumbled more than once after slamming the front of his foot into a rock. There was a terrible thrill filling him, marking him as prey and propelling his legs forward, his muscles feeling as though they were on fire as they desperately tried to stay upright, knowing that if they failed they would not get a second chance. Whenever he thought that maybe, just maybe he had gotten away from whatever was chasing him and he dared to slow his pace, he heard a low snarl and the rustle of leaves from behind him and above him, and he was off again.

All of a sudden, he burst into a clearing, wide and expansive and illuminated by the full moon's light. The carpet of grass beneath him was short and hard, thin and drying; the cold of the night air, hidden by the warmth pulsing in the dangerous woods behind him, now hit him at full force, slitting long gashes into his throat as he continued, speeding up now that there was less obstructing his way. He pumped his arms as he went, hoping that the motion wasn't as useless at it seemed and would somehow make him go faster, maybe even fly. And then there was another ferocious growl, a terrible howl erupting from the woods behind him, and Remus really wished he _could_ fly. His heart skipped multiple beats before remembering its job, and a sharp pain filled his chest as the weakening organ struggled to catch up with his body's demands; his head swam in fatigue and oxygen deprivation as he pushed himself, harder, harder, trying to fill his veins with more and more adrenaline, until his foot slipped and suddenly he was in the air.

He landed hard, sliding in the dirt multiple feet and littering his left side with cuts and bruises. He tried to stand up, terrified of being still, of being caught, but he couldn't manage to start himself up again; it was as though his body had given up on him, resigned itself to the end, even though he himself was not willing to do that. There was another howl behind him, others joining in the horrible chorus this time, and his legs shook before his knees buckled and dropped him again, rocks cutting into his palms as he landed. His entire being trembled, his throat tight and eyes wide with fear, as he tried to force himself up, to keep going, but it just wasn't happening; the sound behind him only grew stronger, speaking of anticipation, of its eagerness to taste human flesh again.

And then suddenly, unexpectedly, he heard a different sound, one that made his blood run cold - it was a scream, terrible and petrified, a high wail that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. It begged for pity, for release, for death; its jagged cut sliced into the night air, pathetic and submissive, an animal just brought down by the pack. It was a voice he recognized only too well, and before he realized it he was running towards it, towards a looming wall of trees where he knew only death could be found.

He didn't get there until it was too late, but what he saw was enough to make him want to wretch: it was a pack of men, greedily devouring what appeared to be the corpse of a man - except that it wasn't a corpse, he was alive, only his pale hand visible to Remus, shining in the darkness between the feet of the hungry wolves. It twitched, the fingers tight and strained, and Remus could hear the gurgling groans of that familiar voice from the middle of the circle, pleading for mercy and the end. The smell of hot blood spilt on dead grass filled his nostrils, and his chest heaved as the sound of the man’s whimpers and the nauseating sound of wet chewing continued to be the only things heard through the still night. Remus wanted to say something, to force them to go away, but he couldn't; he simply stood there, transfixed, as he watched, unable to tear his eyes away from the horrifying sight.

Finally, the largest of the men stood up properly, his face appallingly familiar to Remus. Greyback gave him a smile of sharp yellowing teeth, his dilated pupils shining, and slowly but surely the others around him straightened as well. Marrok, Cailean, Dr. Masen - they were all there, blood dripping from their chins like paint and shining a vivid red in the night as their eyes glittered mockingly at him. There was one more, however, still feeding; he looked to be the hungriest of them all, painfully thin and obviously trying to consume as much as he could. Remus felt his heart beating fast, painfully fast, as he allowed his gaze to fall onto the victim's face, already knowing who it was, and sure enough, there he was, his matted and tangled dark hair glistening in the moonlight, his beautiful grey eyes wide with pain and betrayal. He was still breathing, the poor man; Remus could see the gentle rise and fall of his sternum above the gaping hole in his abdomen, and he felt a scream of his own building up inside of his chest, gathering like water at a weak dam fit to burst.

And then the last man stood, slowly and carefully, as though he had just finished some sort of religious ritual. He looked familiar, too familiar, but even once he was facing Remus it took the werewolf a moment to recognize the other. It was himself, his face covered in Sirius's pure blood, his tongue lapping up the remains on his lips as though he couldn’t get enough of it. A piece of something was glistening sickeningly in his copy’s hand, something that most certainly should have been inside of Sirius, tucked safely away in the warmth of his body instead of exposed to the cold night air. He watched as he smiled at himself, his reflection’s angry face twisted, his red mouth hungry, his too-bright eyes animal, and Remus's stomach couldn't take it anymore.


End file.
